


Antonia

by TangoDancer



Series: We'll Meet Again (Some Sunny Day) [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Bucky Barnes, BAMF Tony Stark, Brainwashing, Child Death, F/M, Female Tony Stark, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Tony Stark, Mentions of Antisemitism, Mentions of genocide, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Time Travel, Torture, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2018-12-26 03:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12050331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TangoDancer/pseuds/TangoDancer
Summary: James dove for cover, grateful for his high perch, which gave him the benefit of having a lot of branches to blend with. Jones’ swearing had barely faded into his ear when the woman stepped into view, her face turned to the ground and her steps measured, as if she were looking for something. His breath caught in his chest. He knew this gait, this curly black hair. He knew those deceptively thin shoulders. She stopped right under James, looked around, and then up.Hazel met ice blue, and his heart came to a stop.As the Howling Commandos started to shape history, a man refused to believe in his beloved's betrayal.





	Antonia

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I want to thank all of you for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting on the first two installments of this series. Your support is everything and really what encouraged me to complete and post this third part. 
> 
> I'll admit I proofread and edited this on several occasions, but gave up halfway through on the last sweep, so let me know if I forgot anything. 
> 
> A word of wording: be prepared for one child death and genocide. While I did my research, I'm no expert in the fields of WWII, the Shoah, or anything related. Please let me know (politely, if you don't mind) if I wrote anything offensive and I will edit/cut it out. 
> 
> Other than that, enjoy your reading!

**November 1943**

Steve Rogers burst into their lives like a comet, bright and burning and unstoppable. He freed the prisoners in the span of five minutes, and led them back to camp. They learned later on that the mission had not been authorized and that only stubborn devotion and single-minded bravery had pushed him to go against orders and an entire army of fanatics to rescue his best friend.

Barnes was beat up but walking when they made it out of the burning factory, although his legs still seemed a bit weak and he kept slurring his words. That night, as they walked in the woods towards the Italian border—it was far too risky to risk setting up camp so close to enemy installations, Dugan, Falsworth, Jones and Dernier ended up catching up to Barnes and Rogers, who were in the middle of a conversation.

“She made up this ridiculous accent,” Rogers was saying. “I’d have thought she really was German had I not known better. She would have made a fantastic actress.”

Barnes rasped a laugh. “Course she would have. She’s talented, my Antonia.” A beat. “Did you ever find out? Why she…”

Rogers shook his head, looking chagrined. “No, I’m sorry, Buck.”

“Are we talking about the Antonia from the picture?” Falsworth interrupted before Barnes could get too depressed.

“A picture?”

Barnes grimaced. “Looked at it every night before going to sleep. I’d hold onto him while you still can, Rogers. Your pal here, he’s a goner.”

Steve chuckled. “Every night, Buck? Really?”

Barnes’ shove was as effective as a breeze against a tree. “Shut up.”

“Come on, fellas, tell me all about it.”

“Don’t you dare!”

But there was nothing to be done, and the evening went on as they shared stories of their respective adventures with dames.

* * *

“How did you find us anyway?”

Steve looked up at the man across the table. It had been a week since he’d rescued the 107 th, since he’d saved _Bucky_ , and in that small amount of time, he’d gone from dancing monkey to war hero, official captain and leader of his own team. He still was having trouble wrapping his head around everything, it had happened so fast. Yet, there was a dull joy thrumming in his chest every time he thought about it, because in the end, Toni had been right. His time had come. He was finally doing what he’d been meant for, fighting for his country, for his people. For freedom.

There was no better feeling in the world.

He looked at Bucky, staring into his pint. His best friend had been quiet since they’d returned, much more than he’d used to be. He’d agreed to follow Steve into battle, effectively becoming his second, but Steve could tell something was different. And while that could be expected given what he’d gone through—no doubt HYDRA hadn’t exactly been very hospitable a place, Steve worried. Especially since any and all attempts to talk about it had been for naught.

“We got intel. From what Agent Carter told me, they’d had no clue as to where you were before someone sent us the information.”

That comment made them all perk up, and they all leaned forward in interest. “A leak?”

“Or a double agent,” Dernier interjected.

“They wouldn’t say,” Steve said, taking a sip of his beer, “but I doubt anyone could infiltrate HYDRA.”

“Although it would make sense for them not to talk about it if it’s indeed the case. Don’t want to endanger the spy.”

Dugan hummed in thought. “Well, there _was_ a strange woman at the compound.”

Falsworth and Morita choked on their drinks. The others stared in wide-eyed incredulity, but Bucky… Bucky had looked up, and was now looking at Dugan with the focused intensity of a predator waiting to pounce. “A woman?”

“Completely nuts, this one,” Jones nodded. “She knew we were sabotaging the tanks right away but never said anything about it. In fact, she protected us when the guard got pissed.”

“Did she have a name?”

“Never said.” This time, it was Dernier. “Real pretty though. For a SS.”

“A SS helped you? I thought Schmidt had left the Nazis?”

“Crazy, right? Well, I guess we won’t ever know why she did it. She’s probably dead.”

“I don’t know,” Jones said contemplatively, “she seemed pretty darn smart to me.”

* * *

Chiassino hurried into the little café and heaved a sigh of relief as a gust of warm air replaced the freezing cold of the Swiss capital. The weather hadn’t been pleasant to begin with, and it had only worsened when a snow storm had washed over the city, covering it in a hushed blanket of white.

Stomping his feet on the doormat to avoid leaving dirty footprints all over the place, he unbuttoned his coat. A man was reading the newspaper in the corner, but apart from him and the one-man staff, the place was deserted, probably due to the atrocious temperature. Why Bank had seen it fit to send him overseas after years of desk job and with a severe limp, only God knew, but that really didn’t make him a happy camper.

At this point, however, he almost wished his contact hadn’t made it yet so he wouldn’t have to get back outside too soon.

Unfortunately for him, it seemed she was here already, sitting by the fireplace in a deep red coat and a black scarf, shoulders high on either side of her head. Obviously still freezing in spite of the roaring flames, then. She hadn’t looked up at his entrance, apparently focused on a small book open in her lap. An empty cup sat on the coffee table in front of her. Doug waved at the waiter.

“Agent Galante,” he greeted, sighing again as he sank into the other armchair. So very comfortable. He wanted the same at home. Across from him, Agent Galante closed her book with a barely audible snap and tucked it into her purse.

“How are you?”

“Great.”

She didn’t look great, or even fine. Agent Galante looked haggard, deep bags under her eyes, so dark even makeup couldn’t conceal them, and while both her hair and her clothes were impeccable, her hands were shaking and her complexion so pale she was almost transparent. He could see the complex network of veins streaking blue across her skin from where he sat, and that was never good. She’d been tan when she’d left, healthy. Now she looked fragile and worn down.

It wasn’t a good look on her. She’d been undercover for four months already, three of those spent as a SS officer by General Müller’s side. The man was known to be a sadist and a pervert, and things in Germany, from what little intelligence the OSS had managed to gather, were not getting any better.

No wonder she looked like this.

He worried, though. Agent Galante was strong, no doubt about that, and clever as no one he’d ever met before, but that made her no less human. And there was a limit to what even the toughest could witness before they broke. Yet her mission was far from over, may not be for years, and loathe to admit it as he was, they desperately needed her. Her work had already saved hundreds of lives if not thousands, helping them evacuate civilians and Jews in the nick of time, set up ambushes instead of being ambushed themselves, and withdrawing troops instead of going in to confront a contingent much larger than anticipated.

“I have something for you.”

She perked up a little at that. They were sitting in a small Swiss café (Switzerland, Chiassino? Are you trying to make me freeze to death?), watching snow cover the city in a hushed blanket of white. Few people had ventured outside since the storm had started, and the place was very quiet.

Toni had ordered a hot chocolate—unusual, and a testimony to just how not fine she really was—and Doug a coffee. The roaring flames did wonders for his frozen bones, but his blood still needed a kick to the butt to start warming him up. The drink seemed to hold supernatural powers in that domain.

Carefully, he slid the stack of letters across the table, watching as her eyes widened at the sheer quantity of them. She untied the string that held them all together with clumsy fingers. The writing at the back was concise, the same on every letter: Sgt. James B. Barnes, 107 th  Infantry. No return address.

Probably because there was none. Military base locations weren’t advertised.

Barnes’ letters had been coming steadily, at least one every two weeks, ever since before Toni had left for Germany. Since she had left her apartment—why pay rent when you’re all the way across the country, after all, Chiassino had been the one, as her handler, to gather and hold onto them until such time as he could pass them on to their intended recipient. He’d read them at first, of course. For safety purposes. He’d immediately felt like a voyeur. Barnes’ letters were filled with such all-encompassing tenderness that there was no feeling guiltless when reading the prose he obviously wrote from the heart. Whoever this man was, he held Agent Galante close to his heart.

Then, last October, the letters had stopped, and Chiassino had feared he would soon get a very different type of missive. He’d spent the entire month dreading every mail delivery, going through the envelopes the mailman left for him with shaking fingers, terrified at the thought that he might have to be the messenger of news everyone dreaded receiving.

And yet.

There had been a new one right before he’d had to leave for Switzerland. Freshly stamped, labelled with that same neat handwriting. Sgt. James B. Barnes, 107 th  Infantry. Not a standard missive from a superior officer. One written directly by the man. Living and, hopefully, well. His shout of victory had drawn the attention of the entire office, but he’d been far too happy to care.

Now, watching the tip of her fingers brush reverently against the dark letters of his name on the back of the envelope, he couldn’t help the gratitude from swelling in his chest, along with a prayer.

_Thank you, Lord, for protecting this man and granting Toni this happiness. Please help him live through this. Let them both live and have their happy ending. You know Toni deserves it many times over._

He never expected to see Toni cry.

“Toni!”

She jerked in surprise, raised her hand to her cheek, blinked as her fingers came away wet. Wiped her arm over her face almost angrily.

“Sorry, I—sorry.” She inhaled deeply, face turned to the ceiling as she blinked away the tears. “I saw him.”

“What?”

“I saw him. When I was with HYDRA. He was…” she blinked some more as her voice started shaking. “He was a prisoner. They used him for their experiments. He was in so much _pain_.” Doug wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear that last bit, but he did nonetheless. The agony in her voice made it clear what had happened. She’d had to watch the man she loved be tortured, over and over, and she hadn’t been able to do a thing to help.

What did one say in such circumstances? The man had survived, if he’d sent another letter. But that knowledge would be nowhere near enough to erase the memories of his agony from Toni’s mind. She would live with it until the end of her days, and with the guilt that was undoubtedly eating at her even now.

“You did everything you could,” he whispered as gently as he could.

“I know.”

“Sending the coordinates was the best line of conduct for everyone.”

“I _know._ ”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“Do you want to pull out?” Doug asked after a moment. Tired eyes flickered from the fire to his face, and back again. The flames reflected in her eyes, giving her a glassy look. Knowing what she had witnessed, or at least part of it, in the past weeks, however, Doug felt a whole new sense of understanding weigh down his shoulders. No wonder she looked so exhausted. Who could sleep peacefully after standing by helplessly as their loved one was experimented on?

“Never,” she replied on the same tone.

And really, that was that.

* * *

_Dear Antonia,_

_I hope you are well. If you got my letters, then you must have been quite alarmed at not receiving any for several months. I apologize for the fright I caused you, although I assure you it was not of my doing. I got captured by a new faction of the war I cannot write in detail about, but Steve—my best friend, you met him very briefly at my apartment that day, came to the rescue and freed me and what was left of my regiment._

_I want you to know, dearest Antonia, that you never left my mind over the course of those months, not for a single second. My time in captivity was made infinitely easier by the memory of your voice, your laughter, your_ _perfume_ _. Sometimes, lying in my cell, I thought I could hear you murmuring encouragements to me through the depths of my unconsciousness. It felt as if, had I only opened my eyes, I would have seen you there, your beautiful face bent over me, smiling at me. I could almost feel your fingers running through my hair._

_I know you couldn’t have been with me physically, and truly I am glad for it. I never want to imagine you in such a dreary, horrible place, and yet, having you with me in thought gave me strength every single day. You are the sole reason I survived through this horror, sweet Antonia, and I cannot express how deep my gratitude and love towards you run._

_In this moment, as I sit writing you outside my tent, I can only think of this song by Vera Lynn, who came to sing for us right after I shipped out. “We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when. But I know we’ll meet again, some sunny day.”_

_We will meet again, my darling._

_I am now the second in command of a powerful commando headed by Steve himself, or Captain America, as they now call him, which is much better than what I used to do. Sure, fighting on the front line with the others was something, but Steve leads us much further and higher than I would have ever dared to hope for. We are making a difference here, or at least I think we are. It is a great feeling._

_Steve himself is happier than I have ever seen him. I told you how often he would complain about wanting to participate in the war. Well, he finally managed to get himself recognized and acknowledged as a real soldier, and I swear to you, it is as if he were born to do this. He cares for every single one of us and listens to orders…up until he decides he knows better and has a better strategy. He has yet to be wrong. You should see him, Antonia! The daring, the bravery of this man! I grew up with a stubborn shrimp, had to beat up the bullies that would not stop picking on him for years on end, but he has become something else entirely._

_Not in mind or soul, no. This is still the old Steve, with his stubborn, righteous, dedicated heart. But in body. Steve has become formidable. I never thought I would see the day._

_Things around camp have been busy. The Allies’ morale was boosted by Steve’s little stunt, and the men look up to him—and, by default, us—like he is the Messiah. It is quite disconcerting at times. On the bright side of things, however, when I am roped into instructing new recruits, they actually listen to me. I suppose it helps to have Captain America’s endorsement._

_I must leave you now, I am afraid. My teammates—Dugan and Dernier, are about to start a game of arm-wrestling, and that usually ends in a broken table and sometimes a fight between betters, so I better go put a stop to all this before it degenerates._

_All my love,_

_James_

* * *

**January 1944**

The rise gave them a perfect view on what was going on below. The mansion was situated not too far from the ghetto, which was overrun in tents and improvised camps. There was too little space for the sheer number of people forced there, entire families crouching outside around small sidewalk fires, although the constant drizzle that hadn’t let up since morning kept the flames timid. Most of them tried to find shelter in shops and other such public spaces, but the area devoted to them was so cramped it was most often in vain.

The patrolling men’s heavy steps pounded hard on the ground, loud enough for the Commandos to hear them even from their hiding spots. Sighting through his rifle, James gritted his teeth at the terrified faces of the families being forced onto the streets, the wailing children whose mothers desperately tried to calm in fear of being shot down, the drawn features of their husbands as they tried to use their bodies as shields for their wife and children.

“Not long now,” Steve’s voice said in his ear. James didn’t really like Howard Stark—the man was too flashy, too fake, but he couldn’t deny that he knew his way around technology. Those brand new communicators were brilliant, the receiver small enough to slot into the ear while the larger base unit hung to their belt. It was much better than any other radio he’d ever heard of, and far more discreet, too.

And they were in desperate need of subtlety. This mission was their first based on stealth. Assassination. A SS General who’d been causing far more trouble than he was worth, and who had the bad idea to actually know how to use his brain. He’d already managed to thwart several Allied ops and cause many deaths that could have been avoided had he not been there, so the Colonel had decided to send the Howling Commandos in to get rid of him.

Their intel had said he would be there, but the mission itself wouldn’t take place today. Far too many eyes, and too much manpower to deal with. Even Captain America couldn’t go up against several hundred men and win. No, today was observation. A way to familiarize themselves with the target, and gather as much intelligence on the situation in Austria as possible. From what James had seen so far, it wasn’t pretty.

“He’s here. Keep your eyes open.”

Indeed, a Stoewer 40 was coming to a stop by the mansion’s main door. A man wearing the standard SS uniform came out, quickly followed by a woman, a triangular military beret perched atop dark hair. They hurried inside, too quick for the Commandos to see anything other than their back.

“You owe me a week’s worth of booze, Stevie,” James groaned when he realized he’d have to stay there however long it took for Steve to be satisfied.

“You’d pass out before the first day is out.”

“I’d still drink the others under the table, though.”

“As if,” Dernier’s accent echoed in his ear. “I’ll have you know no one’s ever outdrunk me before.”

“There’s a first for everything, kid,” Dum Dum interjected, “and that wine of yours ain’t real alcohol anyway. Let’s see what you do with some real life whiskey.”

The others were smart enough not to get involved, and the banter continued until Steve put a stop to it so they could set up a sleep rotation. When the sun rose on the next day, they were all chilled to the bone, but at least the rain had stopped. The landscape would have been beautiful, pale golden light gliding over morning fog and glistening off dew-coated grass, had it not been for the enemy scattered all over the place. The birds had deserted the surroundings a long time ago, scared off by the potent smell of death and destruction that permeated the air.

They almost missed her. It was barely five, and they weren’t expecting anyone from inside the mansion to be up, going out even less so. But suddenly, the woman was there, making her way over to the woods where the Commandos had stationed themselves, clad only in military fatigues, jackboots, and a long-sleeved t-shirt. She weaved around the guards like she’d done it all her life, easily evading their line of sight, and vanished under the cover of the trees.

“Anyone manage to see her face?” Steve’s voice came through the communicator unit.

Multiple denials followed, although Jones’ seemed rather uncertain. “Jones?”

“I’m not sure, Cap. She just… looks like she could be the woman from the compound.”

“You mean when you were prisoners?”

“She’s got the same build and complexion from what I saw,” Dum Dum interjected, “but we can’t be sure. Falsworth? Dernier?”

Neither could tell. “If it’s her indeed, Cap, we’ll have to be careful. She’s something.”

“Dangerous.”

“Yeah, probably. I told you, she never said anything about us sabotaging the tanks. She may be turned.”

“Unless she’s already on our side,” Dernier said.

“You Frenchmen and your romanticism,” Falsworth scoffed.

“Yeah? What do you make of all that sneaking around, then?”

“It’s possible,” Steve cut the budding argument short, “but unlikely. Keep your eyes open.”

An hour passed, then thirty more minutes.

“Someone’s coming,” Steve warned.

James dove for cover, grateful for his high perch, which gave him the benefit of having a lot of branches to blend with. Jones’ swearing had barely faded into his ear when the woman stepped into view, her face turned to the ground and her steps measured, as if she were looking for something. His breath caught in his chest. He knew this gait, this curly black hair. He knew those deceptively thin shoulders. She stopped right under James, looked around, and then up.

Hazel met ice blue, and his heart came to a stop.

Antonia, with the twin lightning bolts of the SS on her collar and her eyes a bottomless well of grief, looked straight into his eyes, lips curling up at the corners, but he knew her, knew her tells and her expressions, and this, this was a parody of her usual, carefree smile, and his heart longed to see it widen and change into that beautiful, tingling laughter. This was a poor shadow of a smile, weighed down by an untold burden and unspeakable sadness. Gently, Antonia shook her head, subtle enough that no one would see it except for him, lips mouthing something. Then, as quick as she had come, she was gone, leaving James to blink himself out his daze and catch his breath high up in a tree in an Austrian forest, his hand still reaching out for a ghost long gone.

His chest ached with yearning.

“Bucky?”

James looked up. The entire team stared back at him, concern etched on their faces. He glanced at their surroundings. Somehow, they’d moved away from their monitoring position, and were now sat in a small cabin in the woods, a fire crackling merrily in the fireplace.

“When did we get here?”

The concern turned to full-fledged worry.

“Buck, are you alright? What’s going on? You look like you saw a ghost.”

A ghost? Well, no, that wasn’t it. But Antonia wearing the enemy’s uniform. Well that was a kick to the gut, now, wasn’t it? How could he have not noticed? How could that have happened? Could he really have let himself fall for an enemy agent? No, he couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe that Antonia, smart and lively and energetic Antonia, burdened with a thousand nightmares she’d never spoken of but that he could feel lingering behind her eyes, her smile, her every touch, would willingly be part of the atrocities perpetrated by Himmler’s men. Antonia was a lot of things, but she wasn’t a murderer. She would never…

The others were talking around him, but it was only the tail end of Dugan’s sentence that caught his attention.

“What did you just say?” His sudden interruption brought utter silence on the group, who collectively stared at him.

“I said,” Dum Dum repeated, and edge of wariness to his tone, “that this was the woman from the compound. No wonders you look shaken. She was probably there when you were…” he gave a self-explanatory wave of his hand, but the word was there, hovering over their hands.

_Tortured._

“No.”

“What? Barnes, she worked with us often enough. It was her, I can tell. Ask the others, too.”

He didn’t need to. They were already nodding and humming in agreement. Steve leaned forward, brows creasing in worry. “Buck, what’s wrong?”

“It’s—she’s…” he couldn’t say it. Saying it would make it real, somehow. He’d been dreaming of their reunion ever since his departure, and now he’d seen her again, but she wasn’t the woman he thought she was, she hadn’t… And now the Howlies insisted she’d been there at the compound, when they’d injected him with those unnatural solutions, when they’d beaten him up and tortured him until he’d screamed his throat raw. He couldn’t believe it, couldn’t take it, not from her, not from…

“Antonia.”

Steve froze. “What?” The word didn’t carry disbelief as much as it was disbelief itself.

“It’s Antonia.”

“What, you mean your dame?” Falsworth burst out, only to be shushed by a frowning Dugan.

“That can’t be right,” Steve muttered. “Toni would never…”

“I’m sure of it, Steve. I saw her. She looked right at me, she _saw_ me. She knew who I was.”

His ears were ringing, his vision, cloudy. The long silence that followed felt stifling, and he dimly noticed that Steve’s face had crumpled in horror and grief. He didn’t care. All that mattered was… But maybe, just maybe there was an explanation. There must be one. They had mentioned something, earlier, and that would make sense, right? Hope suddenly blossomed in his chest, bright and brutal and searing.

“You…you said she accompanied you on your tour, right? That she was some kind of agent?”

“I—Yes. She’s with the OSS, I think.”

“Then, she… she must be a double agent, right? She wouldn’t…”

“Barnes…”

“Shut up, Dernier. Steve?” Steve was staring at the dark floorboards. “You spent time with her. You know, right? She’s not…”

“It’s—I don’t know what to tell you, Buck.” James opened his mouth to protest, ready to stand up for Antonia again, frustration welling up at the way Steve wouldn’t do so as well. He’d spent so much time with Antonia, how could he not see how good she was? “I mean—I thought she was a…a secretary, maybe, but infiltration?” He paused, running his hand through his hair, and for a second, James thought he looked old and tired, and he wondered if maybe the burden of Captain America hadn’t become too much for his friend. Yet, there was only determination in those baby blues when Steve looked him right in the eye and spoke again. “But we’ll find out, I can promise you that.”

“And how exactly do you propose we do that?” Dugan growled. “It’s not like we can just ask her.”

“We also need to consider the fact that interfering might endanger her cover, if truly she’s a double agent working for us,” Jones pointed out.

“We’ll keep our distance,” Steve decided after a moment. “Don’t approach her.” He turned to James. “Any of you.”

* * *

She couldn’t believe she’d done that. James had been there, in that tree, looking down at her, naked stupefaction all over his face, and all she’d been able to think was how much better he looked compared to the last time she’d seen him, half-carried to freedom by Rogers while the rest of the newly-freed captives raged their way out.

She’d thought she’d caught light glinting off something metallic the day before, when they’d arrived, but the rain had made it difficult to see anything out the window, so she hadn’t pursued the matter. But she’d wanted to inspect the matter in the morning, see if maybe it was something specifically made to draw her attention—an impromptu delivery from the OSS, or an emergency call for help. They did that, sometimes. Send people over to her for help. They didn’t always have the opportunity to warn her beforehand.

Too dangerous.

But it hadn’t been. Instead, she’d found the distinctive marks of a sniper’s nest, and James perched in a tree. God, he’d looked so stunned. She couldn’t get his eyes out of her head, ice blue and round in surprise. She hadn’t realized she’d worried about him until she’d spotted him there, half-concealed by the blossoming foliage, his Johnson strapped to his back and peeking over his shoulder.

She’d wanted to speak up so badly then. To go to him, tell him how she’d read his letters, each and every one of them, and that she had composed a reply to every single one in the silence of her mind, where she wouldn’t be compromised by her relationship with an American soldier. A member of the dreaded Howling Commandos, second to none but Captain America himself. The enemy.

But she hadn’t. Her nerves had failed her at the very last second, even as she’d already opened her mouth to talk. _I’m sorry_ , she’d found herself mouthing instead, her throat too dry, her heart beating too hard to produce actual sound, and then, she’d forced her shaking legs to move and left. Back to the Nazis, to her mission. Back where she was most needed.

The sensation of his eyes on her back was like ants crawling up her spine. She despised the feeling, hated that he’d seen her like this, wearing this uniform she loathed. And she hoped with fervor that the Commandos would leave before something happened she could do nothing to prevent, before James had to see her remain impassive in the face of the atrocities committed by the SS she was supposed to be a part of.

And that was the thing, wasn’t it? She’d never cared for what other people thought of her. Not since she’d finally understood that Howard would never be happy with her anyway, and that all of the smarts and talent and hard work in the world would never be enough to make him see her, smile at her, or even drop a quick “good job.” Jarvis had been her drive for a while, but then he’d died, and she’d been alone again. Rhodey, Pepper and Happy had come close, for a while. But Rhodey had stolen her suit, and Pepper was always exasperated with her, and Happy, well… He’d been crushing on Pepper for so long it was no surprise he’d sided with her. Not that there had been open sides to stand on, or anything. But Extremis had been one close call too many for Pepper, who’d made it very clear since that first time she’d seen the bullet holes in the Mark II’s chest plate that she didn’t like what Toni was doing, and she’d almost severed all ties.

It didn’t matter, what they said. People always left.

And in a few short months, so would James, killed in action. She knew that. She’d done everything she could to get out of that pain, to separate herself from him, to forget him. And yet, fate had a way to throw them together over and over again, even in a foreign country, even when she was undercover with the enemy.

Fate was a bitch.

The man standing beside her yawned loudly, then cursed and jumped away as blood splattered the mud a mere few inches from his shiny boots. “Mind the boots, you brainless idiots!” He barked in German, prompting apologetic half-bows from the closest soldiers even as they scurried away from his anger. Müller’s temper was well-known, one she’d tirelessly maneuvered to keep clear of, but she wasn’t fool enough to believe she was safe. The man was borderline inside, and she knew precisely what would happen were he to grow displeased of her services.

Ducking her head to pretend she was going through his schedule, she took a distracted step to the side, careful not to look at the hand that had been headed towards her rear and that now fell limply to his side. She felt more than saw his brow twist in anger. Her trip out this morning had been a long time coming: it wouldn’t be long now before she was forced to escape or cave in, and she had no intention to let the man anywhere near her body. She’d make sure he wasn’t in any way shape to chase her, however.

And she’d relish in it.

Her hand snapped out as a child stumbled too close to her, his cheeks hollowed out and his eyes feverish, bright with fear as he looked up at her. A shout rang over the screams. The kid turned abruptly: a woman in threadbare clothing, headscarf askew on her head, a few wispy strands of hair framing her face. The kid strained against her grip, and Toni let him go, watching as he headed toward his mother. The gunshot tore through the air like fabric ripping. The woman froze for a brief second before her body tumbled to the ground, a puppet with its strings cut.

“Mama!”

The kid was already hurtling toward her, only to be stopped as well. His body collapsed on top of his mother’s, and Toni could only stare, bile rising to her lips at the sight of the kid’s sightless eyes staring right back at her, crushing his mother’s emaciated form with his own, slighter body.

The scream that followed was nothing short of animalistic. The man fell to his knees by the bodies, every line in his body screaming of pure, heartbroken desolation, fat tears dripping down his face and into the child’s hair—Heinrich, Toni heard him call to the child, even as he tugged helplessly at his wife’s clothes. The guards weren’t having any of that, though, already pushing and pulling at him to get up, but if their barked orders made it to the devastated man’s ears, their certainly didn’t reach his brain.

The closest guard collapsed as the man slammed into him, a wordless shout of surprise leaving his throat as the first punch hit home. The others went to rescue him, only to be rushed as well, this time by other prisoners, and all of a sudden, there was a swarm of armed men standing between her and the screaming crowd, gunshots ringing in her ears, and it was the funvee all over again, except that the soldiers protecting her were shooting down innocents and it was civilian blood staining the pavement, mixing with the mud, when before it’d been sand and explosions and only her own, bloody chest.

Gulmira, all over again, her worst nightmares blending together into this horrific scene, and she couldn’t move, frozen to the spot as memories clawed their way to the forefront of her mind, making her gut and lungs clench in panic at the screams and gunshots. The time and country might have been different, but there was no mistaking those screams. No matter the language, agony always sounded the same, raw and throaty and torn, until it abruptly cut off. This time, it was a messy, bloody end, brain matter scattering on the pavement as the SS shot the offenders in the head.

The crowd was getting more and more agitated, panicked Jews rushing this way and that, some charging the soldiers, others blindly rushing for cover, begging for mercy, that they didn’t do anything, that they would never—

A soldier, young, late twenties at the most, was waving frantically at her. “You need to go, Fraülein! It’s dangerous here, run!” He grabbed her arm when she didn’t react fast enough, her eyes still ineluctably drawn to the carnage, ears ringing with every gunshot, gut churning at the blood staining her boots, slithering into every fold of the worn leather, as if recognizing it had once been part of a living being as well. Kin.

Then she was in a car and the driver, another soldier, peeled out of the ghetto like hell was on their heels. But all she could hear was the screaming, the constant explosions of the gunshots, and, burned behind her retinas, the child’s eyes, wide and accusing even in death. Leaning over the car door, heedless of the driver’s cry of alarm, she retched violently, uncaring that it would be construed as weakness. There was only so much she could take.

Tonight had just been the last straw.

* * *

Vienna AUST Jan 1944

D Chiassino

Bern SWITZ

Müller dead extracting people be ready to reception contact difficult

Arsenal

 

* * *

Phillips raised an eyebrow. “Arsenal?”

Sat across from him in a rackety metal chair, his cane propped up against his seat, Chiassino shrugged. “Her codename after one of our operatives saw her make a bomb out of a paperclip and a bottle of aftershave. Apparently, she’s also an incredible mechanic.”

The general put the telegram back on the table, grudgingly thanking Stark’s encryption once more. It would have been a pain to decode the message had the agent had to twist it until it was unrecognizable, but the man had once again demonstrated his genius with machines. The rain was pounding against the flimsy walls of his tent, and he once again wondered who the mysterious agent was who’d brought them so much precious information since she’d infiltrated the enemy. Chiassino had stubbornly refused to divulge anything about her “for security reasons, General. I’m sure you understand.”

And he did. He wasn’t close to Bank by any means, but there had been enough meetings to realize how nigh impossible it had been to infiltrate the enemy. Until this mysterious agent, Arsenal, who had managed the impossible and been undercover for over a year not only with the Nazis, but with HYDRA also. It had made a lot of people nervous at first. Who was this person, to play three sides successfully? Who was to say she truly was loyal to them?

But both Bank and Chiassino had vouched for her with a ferocity that had shocked them all, especially from Bank, whose impeccable service and long experience made it very difficult to impress. She hadn’t disappointed. Over the months she’d been under cover, the woman had managed to sabotage several key operations, bring them precious information, and save countless lives. Most impressive had been her providing them with the exact coordinates of the base where the 107 th  had been held captive, and contributing, unknowingly as it was, to the genesis of the Howling Commandos and Captain America.

The team had saved so many lives on their own, destroyed so many HYDRA bases. All thanks to this one woman who had succeeded where so many had failed, and was now asking for extraction not for herself, but others. Who they were and how many remained to be seen. The precariousness of her position didn’t allow for a wide range of movement, and short, coded telegrams were all she could give them.

The colonel looked up as the Howling Commandos walked in, looking tired and muddy. The weather had been horrible, recently, and from what he understood, it hadn’t been any better in Germany. Barnes, in particular, looked like hell, black bags under distant eyes and hair disheveled. He looked increasingly irritated at Rogers’ concerned glances, much to Dugan’s disgruntlement, who had to put himself between the two so there wouldn’t be an explosion.

Phillips reached for his pipe.

“Captain Rogers. Gentlemen. Report.”

A curt salute and a succinct report later, Phillips was puffing on his pipe like it was going out of style. The mere narration of what they had seen in Austria was enough, he was sure, to guarantee him nightmares for the six months to come. Carter didn’t look any better, and Chiassino looked perturbed, but unsurprised, as if he’d heard it all before, especially when he heard their mark, General Müller, had been killed by a third party before they’d gotten to him. Phillips narrowed his eyes. He really hated it when the OSS withheld information.

“Thank you, gentlemen. Is that all?”

Rogers’ eyes darted to Barnes, who scowled and looked away, the others glancing uncertainly between the two. Finally, Dugan had enough and huffed, stepped forward.

“That’s all, sir.” Dugan’s mouth snapped shut, but he didn’t say anything. Whatever the issue was, Phillips wasn’t going to push. He had bigger fish to fry, and in this case, he trusted Rogers’ judgment.

“Well then you’re dismissed.”

The Commandos paused outside the tent. Agent Carter, who’d been about to go in, paused. “How did the mission go, gentlemen?”

“And that’s our cue,” Falsworth muttered, clapping Steve on the shoulder. “See you around, Cap. Ma’am.”

James moved away from the duo as well, not in the mood to bear with Steve’s awkward flirting and Carter’s amused prodding. While he’d been delighted for Steve when he’d realized he’d finally got his eye on a dame—one who looked back, for once, he’d been overjoyed. In fact, he still was, delighted, really, and he often would tease his childhood friend until he looked on the verge of combustion, but not today. Not, in fact, since he’d seen Antonia standing under that tree, the twin lightning bolts glinting on her collar, her eyes dark and sorrowful, as if she already knew the countless sleepless nights he’d go through after that day.

Who was he kidding. Of course, she’d known. She knew him inside out, just like he knew her. Or thought he had, at least.

Because there was no way, no way the woman he’d learned to know, headstrong, witty and sarcastic, the woman who’d flitted from exhibit to exhibit at the Stark Expo and cried in his arms as her panic attack slowly subsided and allowed him to see that vulnerable side of her, adhered to the Nazi ideology. Whatever the Howlies may think, that he was blinded by love or whatever, James _knew_ her.

There was no way.

No, Steve had said she was an OSS agent. And hadn’t that been a surprise. Then again, they’d never talked about her work. The topic had never really come up. “I used to fix things,” she’d said once, before scoffing at herself. “Or, well, try to anyway. What I touch has a tendency to hurt people. Especially those around me.”

He would never forget the way she’d looked at him then, how her shoulders had tensed, waiting for something, probably for him to walk away, or something. He’d laughed gently, wrapping an arm around her slim shoulders and drawing her close against him before turning the conversation to a lighter topic. It had taken her some time, but she’d relaxed at last. Yet, he’d caught her sneaking disbelieving glances at him all evening long.

“Where are you?” he asked the empty air, wishing for the breeze to carry his words to her.

* * *

_Dear Antonia,_

_I saw you. We were on a mission, the Howlies and I, watching a target. And then you appeared. You wore the uniform of the enemy._

_The others say you were an enemy agent since the beginning. That you approached me with some ulterior motive in mind. That you were gathering intelligence._

_That I should forget you._

_I do not believe a word they say._

_I know you, beloved Antonia, and I believe in you._

_My only wish, my one prayer to you, is this: come back safely._

_Please._

_With love,_

_James_

* * *

**April 1944**

Steve slid to a stop as he came up to Colonel Phillips’ tent. He’d been training all the way across camp when the summons had come, and the private had told him almost everyone was already there. He’d had to stop by the barracks he shared with the Commandos to make himself presentable—it was never good to be anything less than tidy in the army, after all, and now he was running awfully late.

He slid to a stop outside the tent and tugged at his jacket, quickly running his fingers through his hair to make it look less disheveled by his dash across camp, and, thanking the serum for making him able to run without breaking a sweat or even flushing, walked into the camp, only to find the entire Commandos, Howard, Peggy, Phillips and the man from last time already there.

“Sorry for the delay, sir,” he apologized to the Colonel with a quick salute. The man waved him off impatiently.

“Sit down, Rogers, we have pressing matters to attend to.”

The only chair available was by Bucky, so he sat down, frowning at his best friend’s distinct lack of teasing. There was no doubt in his mind that he would have thrown at least one half-hushed comment in the past, but he hadn’t been the same since HYDRA, and, to a greater extent, since his meeting with Antonia.

His relationship with the others had suffered from their belief that she was indeed with the enemy, and Steve found himself breaking up fights more often than not when the topic came up. They’d learned not to broach it again after a stern talking to by Steve himself, but he could read in Falsworth’s glances and Dernier’s annoyed stance that something was going to give at some point.

Steve wished he could do something about it, really. Tension was bad for the team and their chances of success, but the thing was that while he didn’t have Bucky’s iron-clad faith in Toni, he couldn’t bring himself to truly believe that she was working against them either. Months on tour with her, and he just couldn’t bring himself to envision her as…that. Toni wasn’t a bad person, he was sure of it.

Yet, he couldn’t deny that there was a chance, small as it was, that the others were right. And the leader and strategist within him couldn’t discard that possibility. Just in case.

Bucky’s look of disappointment when he’d failed to defend Toni would forever be seared in his memory. Never before had his friend looked at him like that. Not when he’d lost all the hard-earned money they’d planned on using for movie tickets when they were fifteen, nor when he’d lost yet another job after getting into a fight with a coworker who was harassing a secretary, and who turned out to be a manager.

And yet, for Toni, he’d done it.

It scared Steve. Because, what if Bucky was wrong? What if she was indeed Nazi? Or worse yet, HYDRA? What if she wasn’t a double agent like they suspected and secretly hoped? The mere thought of how Bucky would react terrified Steve. He’d almost lost him once. He wouldn’t let it happen again.

An elbow to the gut brought him back to the present, and he straightened guiltily on his chair as he realized that he’d missed the start of the briefing.

“We lost contact with one of our operatives two days ago,” Phillips was saying. “She managed to send a telegram asking for back-up. All attempts to contact her have failed. We need you to go support her.”

Steve frowned in confusion. The Howling Commandos were an offensive team, not one typically assigned to this kind of mission, which would fall to the regular military.

“The agent was smuggling about thirty survivors from the Vienna ghetto,” a man who'd been introduced as Doug Chiassino, from OSS, replied. “She’s also typically independent. If she asked for back-up, then we know that she needs it, and not for herself. The lives at stake are civilian.”

“Sounds like you got a spitfire there,” Dugan commented. “You sure she’s reliable?”

Chiassino’s countenance cooled down significantly. “I am, sergeant, thank you very much.”

Dum-Dum leaned back in his chair with his hands raised in an appeasing gesture, but there was a smile on his lips that belied his apparent contrition.

“Her last known position was in Bayern, Füssern, to be exact, not far from the rendez-vous point. But she’s in charge of thirty terrified civilians, so they’re moving slowly. Your mission will be to find them and smuggle them all across the border safely.”

“What happened for her to call for help? Do you know?”

The man shook his head, a wrinkle of concern etched deep between his eyebrows. “No. But I do trust her and her judgment. When it comes to other people’s lives, anyway,” he amended after a second.

“Here are your mission details,” Phillips handed Steve a folder.

The Commandos saluted and exited the tent.

“Sergeant Barnes!” They all turned to see Chiassino hobbling after them with considerable ease considering his handicap. He extended a yellowed envelope. “I’m counting on you, sergeant. Bring her back.”

Bucky glanced down as he took the envelope, and instantly froze, the paper shaking between his fingers. Steve edged forward in alarm, dimly aware that the others had as well, but neither man moved. Instead, Bucky rasped out a single word, slow and drawn, as if it was painful to even say it. “When?”

The man offered a gentle smile. “She mailed it a few months ago, after an unexpected twist. It took some time to go through all the security channels, but I received it last week.”

He still hadn’t looked up from the envelope. Steve inched closer, lay a hand on his best friend’s shoulder, concern vibrating through every inch of his being. “Bucky?” The muscle under his palm was wound up tighter than a bowstring.

And that’s when he saw them.

Two little words, scrawled in black ink on the envelope.

 _Mister James_.

His head snapped up so fast it was a miracle he didn’t get whiplash. Chiassino stared back steadily. “Antonia?”

“She read all of your letters,” the man said. “But she couldn’t reply.”

Bucky opened his mouth, closed it. “Did she say anything?” he murmured at last.

The man tilted his chin down at the letter. “I think everything is in there.” He lay a light hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Read it, sergeant.”

Bucky looked up then, his expression open and vulnerable in a way Steve had never seen since their reunion, and for years before. Then he nodded once and turned on his heels, heading for the small cluster of trees by the edge of the camp.

* * *

It was quick work to climb high enough in his favorite tree—an oak, at least several hundred years old, given the thickness of the trunk—that he would be hidden from prying eyes. Leaning comfortably between two branches, he turned the envelope this way and that to inspect it better, brought it to his nose and inhaled deep. Time and distance had erased most of it, but there was the faintest trace of her perfume still lingering on the paper, and he breathed it in slowly, imagining her sitting at a small wooden desk with a candle for sole light, her uniform discarded as she put pen to paper.

He could hear the nib’s soft scratching sound as she formed the letters in that peculiar messy scrawl of hers, something he was just discovering, that he’d never really had an occasion to see before.

_Dear James,_

_You saw me. It was all my fault and absolutely not part of the plan, but it happened. I should have been more careful, but there is no turning back time now, and you have been hurt enough._

_I owe you the truth._

_I work for the OSS. Shortly before meeting you, I was contacted by HYDRA, an essential part of a long-term infiltration plan the OSS and I had been working on for several months already. The organization was still fairly new, but was already causing trouble for our people, and all attempts at gathering intelligence about them had failed. I offered my services. After months of careful preparation, HYDRA deemed me interesting enough and reached out to me: I was to become a double agent, and bring our side information on HYDRA from the inside._

_You need to understand. When I volunteered for this mission, I had nothing to lose and nothing to live for. I told you once that the people around me tend to be hurt by my efforts at protecting them, and it is true: I used to be utterly alone. I wouldn’t be missed._

_But then, there you were one day, standing on that sidewalk, and I recognized your expression from seeing it all too often in the mirror. Your world was crumbling around you, despair clear on your face, and your eyes, James. They were so sad._

_You changed everything. When before I’d been ready to die for this mission, now I was determined to live through it and come back._

_James, I read every single one of your letters. They were the light in the darkest days, a reminder for me to hold on, that this war will one day end, and that what I’m doing is helping us move toward that goal._

_I learned very early on not to let anyone’s thoughts of me influence my beliefs and decisions. Wearing this uniform—bearing it, was a choice I made with a clear mind. I knew what other people would think of me, and that I would be a witness to horrible things. I knew I would be cursed out and hated by hundreds if not thousands, and that I may be forced to hurt innocents. Your eyes on me, though. I felt tainted and, dare I say it? ashamed._

_I waited too long. But no more. Soon, everything will change, which is why I’m writing this letter tonight. I don’t know when I’ll be able to contact you again, and I want to make sure you know the truth if something happens to me. In your memory, at least, I want to be as I was that night you came back from boot camp. I want to be Antonia, not a traitor or a double agent. Just me._

_I hurt you, James. I know I did. I could see it in your eyes when you noticed what I was wearing, that same look that you had on the sidewalk back when we first met. I hurt you, and I can never apologize enough or make it better. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry, and I hope you can one day find it in yourself to forgive me._

_Be safe, cuore mio,_

_Antonia_

The paper was stained with wet spots, round and dark gray. James forced himself to look up, move the letter away from his face. His vision was blurry. He blinked, but it only made new tears roll down his cheeks, and he wiped his face on his jacket without a second thought. A shuddering sob escaped him as he did.

“God, Antonia.” The sheer sincerity dripping from every word and the traces of her perfume were enough to undo him in a way he’d never come undone before. How was it, he wondered, that he, who’d never been interested in anyone beyond a fun night out and maybe a quick tumble in the sheets, had fallen so thoroughly, so desperately for this woman, strange and independent and strong beyond anything he’d ever seen? This woman, who could ramble about science for hours without tiring and shoot just as well if not better than he did, yet collapsed in panic attacks in his arms and fit so perfectly against his body.

He clawed at his chest, almost tearing off his jacket in his sudden struggle for the picture, and looked at her face once more, warm and happy, focused on him and only him. He let his fingers trace her face, imagining her at his side in the tree, her lithe body pressed against his, hair tickling his chin. It had been longer when he’d seen her, tied into a strict bun at her nape. It didn’t suit her.

“I’ll bring you home,” he whispered at long last, so soft it got lost in the spring breeze.

* * *

Her only warning was the dry click of a rifle cocking. Toni ducked just in time, and the bullet whizzed past and slammed into the dirt right by her foot. Silently cursing, she reached for the knife strapped to her thigh and launched herself forward, keeping low so as to avoid detection, eyes darting over her surroundings to ensure she wouldn’t have any nasty surprises. A random hunter had seen their group a few days ago and reported them before she’d even noticed his presence. In her defense, she’d been busy tending to a crying kid’s injury, but she really should have been more vigilant. Another one of the adults could have taken care of him. They’d been dodging patrols and search teams like crazy ever since, and she was running out of ideas.

The border was sealed, there was no way they would pass without back-up, and so that’s what she’d called for, sneaking out at night to send a quick message to her closest contact. Hopefully, help would be coming soon.

Otherwise, she was pretty sure they were done for, trapped in Germany, in the mountains not ten miles away from the Swiss border. God, to be so close and yet so far away… These people were relying on her to save them, and she’d failed.

Or she was going to, if she kept up that train of thinking.

 _Get a grip, girl!_ The voice sounded like Howard, cold and unforgiving, but it did the trick. She focused back on her mission, palming the knife. There. A lighter patch of darkness.

The man was dead before he even realized she was there. Her vision swam as she stood over his body, panting, and she lifted her hand to her forehead, messy strands of hair brushing against her skin. She’d sheared it short after chucking her cover, yet another way to throw off anyone looking for General Müller’s proper secretary. Her chest was heaving, her stomach felt like it would start eating itself soon. How long had it been since her last meal, her last proper night of sleep?

Days for the former. The latter was a question of years, but even used to seventy-two hours binges as she was, she was running on fumes. The survivors needed constant attention, and she had to keep watch on top of that, go scout ahead and back to ensure no one was following them. This entire mission was a nightmare, and she was on her last rope. If reinforcements didn’t get to them soon, she didn’t know how she was going to get them all out.

Dragging the body behind a huge rock, she covered it in leaves as best she could before leaving it for the predators. They would do a much better of making it disappear than she would, at least not without the proper tools.

The group was still where she’d left them, the able-bodied standing around the women, children and injured. Thirty of them, and she was the only trained operative in charge. This was a nightmare. They jerked in alarm when she broke through the trees, but relaxed at the sight of her. “We need to move,” she said, her voice muffled by the mask covering her lower face. A necessity, as there was no telling who of her charges had seen her when she was undercover.

They followed her as she led them through the woods to a small cave entrance hidden by leaves and vines. She waited for them to settle in, then asked for their attention. “I’m going to go see what’s going on around here,” she said in German. “Stay quiet, stay in here. Don’t make a fire.”

The _de facto_ leader of the small group, a graying man in his early fifties whose name she thought was Aaron, nodded at her instructions. “We will do as you say,” he whispered back in the same language.

She tipped her chin at him and walked out, easily melding with the shadows thanks to her black combat gear. She progressed steadily but slowly toward the border. The lay of the land was unfamiliar to her: they’d had to deviate slightly from the usual route after almost being caught by one particularly zealous patrol, and she couldn’t predict treacherous roots or rotting tree trunks. She was about one mile out when the forest went quiet.

Immediately, she froze, then lowered herself into a crouch, slowly unsheathing her trusted knife. There was nothing to be seen as she scanned the trees and growing darkness between them. The forest was as deserted as it should be. Yet, animals didn’t just go quiet for no reason. If they’d all frozen and gone silent, then that meant there was something in the woods. And that couldn’t be good.

A rifle cocked. She tensed, still trying to locate it, ready to duck. But then, another, and another, and yet another. She held back a sigh, brought the dagger closer to her chest, flexed her muscles. She still couldn’t find them. She launched herself onwards and to the side, right boot briefly connecting with a tree for propulsion. Swift as a cat, she rolled on the forest floor, then broke into a run, instantly catching the sound of feet pounding after her.

 _Shit_.

She’d used the last of her improvised explosives a week ago, and an explosion would only attract more attention anyway. Her guns had run out of ammo a few days ago as well, the extra rounds she’d packed proving too few compared to the unexpected lengthening of the mission.

They should have been over the border three days ago. Instead, she was stuck in a chase with hostiles who were fortunately not gaining on her. She glanced behind her. There were three of them, one on either side and the third on her six. She cursed, her heart dropping. No patrol was made of three men. They had to have more people somewhere, and if she could only locate the reinforcements—

Something moved in the trees. She threw herself to the side again, heart thudding wildly against her ribcage, then back up on her feet and into a run again. Whoever they were, they were better than the other patrols she’d come across. Better organized, more persistent.

Better trained, too, if the continuous pounding of her pursuers’ feet was anything to go by. Regular patrols would have fallen behind by now.

She had to keep them away from the survivors. She knew what it meant to be ripped away from your life and held against your will, tortured for days on end. Those people hadn’t gone through the torture part yet, but their existence had been reduced to lower than animals, and she knew that, too. She also knew what the mere idea of going back to the desert did to her.

It wouldn’t happen to them.

Something rammed into her side. She shouted as she fell, the air rushing from her lungs, the world shifting over and over again as she went over the edge of a small depression and tumbled haphazardly down the slope. Finally, she slammed into something hard with enough force that she just lay there for a few seconds, trying to get her bearings.

The air wasn’t flowing properly. She opened her mouth wide, gasping for relief, but only pain was coming in increasingly sharp bursts, all over her body, but especially her chest, where she’d slammed into a protruding root on her way down, and then to the ground when she’d come to a stop, the scar tissue and altered structure of her sternum not meant to take that kind of brutality. She slapped a trembling hand over it, that circular piece of grafted skin where the reactor used to be, over and over again, trying to dislodge whatever it was that wouldn’t let her breathe.

There were hands on her, but she couldn’t even bring herself to care that she’d been caught. She was dying, her lungs burning, screaming for her, and she could almost feel the water as she arched and writhed on the ground…

Then something hit her in the back, hard, right between her shoulders, and oxygen rushed in like water bursting through a weakening dam. She choked on it, gulped it in greedily, the spots in her vision slowly fading even as her arms failed under her and she collapsed to the ground, eyes fluttering, heart still pounding fiercely inside her chest. It felt like her entire body was throbbing in time with each of its pulses, veins almost tangible.

“Holy shit,” someone said, and she barely had time to acknowledge it was English before there were hands on her shoulders again, turning her around.

_I won’t—I won’t go back._

It felt almost inhuman, the effort it took to twist and lash out, but she did it, subduing the man closest to her in a few seconds, and the men around her froze in turn as they noticed the knife she was holding to his throat.

“Let him go,” one of them said, his face hidden in the shadows. He looked massive to her, but her vision was still swimming a little. She shook her head as subtly as she could to clear it, hoping it would go unnoticed. It didn’t. “You’re outnumbered and injured.”

English. They were speaking English, weren’t they? Months of sticking to German, and she didn’t know anymore. She didn’t think she’d hurt her head, but maybe she had after all. Her thoughts were spinning wildly, she couldn’t focus. Her fingers tightened around the knife.

“Not helping, Dugan,” snapped another one with a thick, fresh accent. French, that one she was sure of. So, not an enemy. Right? There was something…

“Dernier?”

They paused. Then, a wary “yes?” and her entire body went slack. “You’re the Howlies.”

“How do you…?” Another silence, and then, “Toni?”

This voice she was more familiar with. She’d lived with him for three months, after all. “Steve.”

“You’re kidding me!” another voice exclaimed, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Instead, she looked down at the man she’d subdued, and who, she only now realized, hadn’t bothered to struggle against her.

Ice blue eyes looked right back at her, and nausea swarmed over her like a tsunami. The knife hit the ground with nary a sound, but she couldn’t look away. A long shudder ran down her spine. Her palms felt filthy, sticky with imagined blood. She’d almost killed James.

She scrambled off him as fast as she could, yanking the mask down as she went, and retched violently in the leaves, dry-heaving until her body couldn’t take it anymore and she collapsed into James’ waiting arms, his voice a soothing melody in her ears, fingers running gently through her hair. “I almost killed you,” she croaked.

The petting paused before resuming. “I’m fine,” he assured, before grabbing her hand and sneaking it between their bodies, right onto his chest. “Still beating.” She could almost see the cocky grin on his face, the way his blue eyes were twinkling. She punched him weakly right in the chest, but he didn’t even budge.

“You’re an asshole.”

“And you’re dead on your feet,” James replied instantly, ignoring the gasps at her profanity.

“I’m fine,” she groaned. “I need to go get my group.” She peered up at him. “If you’re my back-up, that is.”

“We are,” Steve said from where he was kneeling by them. “We even have a plane.”

She hummed. “Great. I’m fucking sick of the woods.”

James chortled above her, and she closed her eyes, let herself sink into his warmth. Just a few moments. She wanted to relish in his presence, in the solidity of his body before they had to go back to the real world, go on the run again, and then confront reality and the truth of what she’d been doing the past few months.

“We need to move,” Steve said after a too-short while, his voice low and regretful. Toni tightened her grip on James’ jacket then let go and forced her poor body to sit up. It was completely dark out, but they had some sort of dim lights in their pockets that gave them enough light to go through. Probably one of Howard’s gadgets.

She swayed as she got to her feet, gratefully leaning against James. “Here.” Taking the offered biscuits, she tore into them and instantly started to feel better as the nutrients started flowing through her body, the food sating that ravenous hole that had been digging itself in her stomach for a few days now.

“Okay,” she said as she finished. “I’m good, let’s go.”

“What, no thanks for saving me?” someone called out, probably Faslworth.

“Mission now, talk later,” Steve said.

Ahead of the group, James and Antonia shared a minute smile, hands brushing together before their fingers intertwined briefly.

* * *

Although she got a few raised eyebrows from putting her mask back on as they neared the cave, the Howling Commandos didn’t say anything about it. There were a few shrieks of fear as the group made their way inside, much larger than they should have been given that their guide had left alone, but a few rapid-fire words in German had been quick to calm them down, and Captain America’s shield did the rest.

None of the Howlies spoke more than a few words of broken German, so it was up to Toni to translate, and so she did, explaining that there was a plane waiting a few miles away and that they had to leave now so they could take advantage of the cover of night. They were safe now, Steve assured them, his tone carrying all the reassurance the words they didn’t understand couldn’t. The Commandos would protect them.

“German, huh?” Dernier commented as they trudged through the forest. “Vous nous réservez beaucoup de surprises, comme ça?” Got more tricks like that?

Toni smirked in the darkness. “Quelques-unes.” A few.

A low chuckle rang through the group as Dernier cursed in astonishment.

The plane was waiting for them, its hulking body tucked at the very edge of the treeline so that it would use the nearby field as a runway. Toni clicked her tongue as she saw it. “Beechcraft Model 18, also known as Twin Beech. A bit old, but it can’t be helped.”

“Who calls my tech old?”

_Girl!_

Toni stiffened as Howard Stark dropped into view from where he’d been hiding in the trees. “Howard,” Steve said. “Are we ready?”

“Nothing happened, if that’s what you want to know,” the man replied before turning back to her. “So your mysterious agent really was a woman. That’s impressive.”

_Why are those schematics so messy?_

_Toni wanted to step away as he came closer to her, but she forced herself to stay in place. Come on, you can do it. You’re not a kid anymore, you can do it. He doesn’t know you, he doesn’t—_

Howard reached out. _With a roar,_ _Howard raised his hand._ She flinched. They froze.

_Can’t you do anything right?_

Toni’s breathing picked up. Hazel to brown, their eyes locked, and it was only James’ sudden presence at her shoulder that stopped her from breaking down all over again.

“What’s going on here?” She jumped as Dugan’s voice tore through the silence, blinked furiously. The world righted itself again. Once more firmly planted in the present, she turned away from Howard and headed off toward the plane, where the survivors had almost finished boarding. James followed her silently and sat down with her, subtly angling his body to shield her when Howard walked past on his way to the cockpit.

His fingers slid around hers as the plane started moving, and she let her cheek fall to his shoulder as her eyes slid shut in exhaustion, relishing in the warmth his body exuded despite the rough material of his jacket. There was a low rumble coming from his throat, or maybe it was from the plane rattling all around them, but she didn’t care. Here, shrouded in the darkness of the cabin, she allowed herself this small moment of contentment after months of constant alertness.

She woke with a strangled gasp as the plane tilted and her body lurched forward, only to be held back by James’ arm around her waist. He was holding onto his seat with his free hand, and she quickly imitated him, grimacing at the near constant detonations bursting around them, rattling the plane and staining the night sky gold and orange.

AAA. James’ grip on her waist tightened briefly, and she turned to him, smiling reassuringly when another shell exploded and gave them some light to see with, highlighting the planes of his face, his eyes dark. His lips briefly pressed to her brow right as another shot forced Howard to make an unexpected tilt again, and his teeth smashed against her forehead. He cursed explosively, and she laughed despite the pain. He smacked his tongue against his teeth a few times, grimacing, but the corners of his lips kept twitching up as he saw her smile, and he grinned in return, teeth flashing in the darkness.

It took a while, but eventually they left the danger zone, and it was only smooth flight after that. It was mid-morning by the time they landed, and the army took over the survivors, not before their leader stopped to thank her profusely in German. Then they left, and Chiassino was standing in their place, a crooked grin on his face.

“Nice mask,” he commented, and she laughed, pulling it down quickly before embracing him.

“Nice to see you, man.”

He hugged her back fiercely. “It’s good to have you back in one piece.” He glanced at James, standing one step behind her. “Thank you, sergeant.”

James lifted his shoulders. “I didn’t do anything, really.”

“He really didn’t,” Antonia smirked. “He spent half the time sleeping in trees.”

James spluttered at that, shaking his head good-naturedly, his arm naturally falling around her shoulders as she let go of her handler and stepped back over to him. “I guess debrief can wait a little,” Chiassino said. “Although Phillips will probably want to see you before anything else.” Steve was coming toward them, his eyebrows furrowed in thought, the Commandos slowly drifting over toward them as well. “The good captain might also want a few answers.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Toni groaned. “After that, though…”

“After that, you’ll go to sleep,” James said right as Chiassino was opening his mouth. The man’s jaw clicked shut instantly. “You look like you’re going to faint.”

“Why, mister James,” Toni replied, cocking her head, one hand on her hip, “how rude of you. Are you implying that I’m not pretty?”

“I’m implying that your beauty would shine more radiantly were you fully rested,” he smirked, thumb brushing at the dark circles under her eyes.

She smiled up at him. “Alright, you win this one.”

A small cough reminded them that they were, in fact, not alone, and there was business to be dealt with.

“Well,” Toni smirked tiredly, looking Steve up and down, “looks like someone climbed up the ranks.”

His eyes were as blue as the summer sky as he stepped forward to wrap his arms around her, his embrace so fierce he lifted her off the ground. “As you said I would,” he said softly, then set her back down, laughing a little at her bewildered expression.

Scowling at his amusement, she quickly ran her fingers through her hair to try and get the strands he’d upset back into place, but it had been days since she’d had a proper shower, and they just wouldn’t behave. She wrinkled her nose at the thought of what she must smell like.

“I need a bath,” she groaned to herself.

“You most certainly do,” James teased, which earned him a good whack on the arm before she started off after Chiassino and towards Phillips’ tent.

Behind them, Steve shook his head and followed with the Commandos, who stared not so subtly at the couple’s retreating backs.

“Not very gallant, mister James,” Toni was saying, her tone light in spite of her obvious exhaustion.

“I only use my manners with the ladies,” Bucky snarked back, much to the men’s shock, but Toni just tilted back her head and laughed, loud and clear.

“Damn right!”

“Where the hell did _she_ come from?” Morita stammered. “I’ve never heard a dame curse like…”

“Like a man?” Steve smiled. “You get used to it after a while.”

“Not sure I will,” Dernier muttered, and Steve’s smile widened, even as he kept his eyes on Toni’s lithe form walking away, her hand brushing against Bucky’s with every step. And if something in his chest constricted a little at the sight, well. It was probably due to the stress of the past few days.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://tangodancer91.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
